


I've Got 99 Problems (But You'll Always Be My Number One)

by misura



Category: Jupiter Ascending (2015)
Genre: Dysfunctional Family, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-26 03:35:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12547932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: Love and assassination attempts.





	I've Got 99 Problems (But You'll Always Be My Number One)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [logorrhea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/logorrhea/gifts).



Marriage between siblings is not forbidden in the Commonwealth.

Provided both parties enter into a union of sound mind and of their own volition (or at least capable of making a declaration to this effect; the law allows for a certain lassitude in these matters) there is no legal reason to forbid a brother and a sister to align their interests.

The fact that such marriages are a rarity in the First Estate, then, is not a matter of legality, or even a lack of affection, be it emotional or physical.

Rather, it is a matter of convenience.

It simply becomes so much harder to keep score in a game when both parties own the exact same properties. Much easier to leave things as they are, and to wait with a perfect alignment of interests until that inevitable point when for one of the two players involved, the game ends. Forever.

(Unless, of course, one counts Recurrences, but it is generally agreed that to do so would make the game entirely too complicated. Even players with millennia at their disposal enjoy tasting victory more often than once a century, after all.)

 

Deals are as much part of the game as assassinations and industrial sabotage are.

Kalique and Balem negotiate a mutually satisfactory agreement to put a stop to all assassination attempts between them fairly early on, with the exception of birthdays and holidays.

It gives them more liberty to talk about such things when they meet for dinner.

"An explosion at a near-finished refinery I was visiting two days ago," Balem says. "Yours?"

"I do hope you're not accusing me of being clumsy." Kalique frowns. It accelerates the onset of wrinkles, but of course, it is only lesser women who need worry about such things.

Balem has always enjoyed Kalique's expressiveness. He likes to watch people's faces, let it tell him what they're feeling. Pain, grief, loss, anger, frustration - there is such scope in human emotions, such variety.

He wishes, sometimes, that there had been a record of their mother's death, so that he might lose himself in her eyes, over and over again, until he has seen through the depths of her very soul. Until he has understood what would make such a woman beg for death.

"Never," he replies, belatedly, aware of his own rudeness.

Kalique smiles. "Perhaps if you informed me of its location, I might make inquiries. I do have a number of operations running at any given time, after all. It's hard to keep track sometimes of where they all are. Tell me, was it a planned visit?"

The offense of suggesting Kalique might seek to damage one of his near-finished refineries rather than wait for it to be wholly finished, thereby increasing the repair costs considerably does not quite, Balem thinks, balance against him sharing the location of a new refinery she might not yet know about.

"For many months," he says, which is a lie. "No matter. Let us consider the subject closed."

She allows him to see her disappointment, in exchange for which he permits her to let him settle the bill for both their dinner and the dress she elects to leave on the floor of his room the morning after.

 

Any Entitled thus desiring may have appointed to them an escort consisting of the finest Royal Guards the Aegis deems fit to supply, and feel themselves well-protected thereby.

In all the history of the Commonwealth, very few Royals have ever died while under protection of that most noble of organizations. The Aegis takes its duties seriously - excessively so, according to those preferring to offer their bribes in yearly salaries, rather than in star systems.

Fewer still have turned a profit.

A lesson there, for those with ambition and a desire to live forever, or as close as they may come.

 

"I do believe Titus actually tried to have me killed last month," Kalique says. She sounds amused.

Balem uses the Titus assignment to discretely rid himself of those Splices too hopelessly inept at what they have been bred for to continue employing.

During the rare moments when he experiences some small fondness for Titus, he tells himself that it is both flattery and efficiency. He has no expectation any of them will succeed, and so all is well.

"Skilled?" he asks, trying for neutral. Kalique does not share his taste for emotions; to allow his face to display even a hint of his feelings would be a loss.

"Hardly." Kalique sips her wine. Something local, and prized, although Balem fails to appreciate its charms. He does not count himself among those who have made it their life's hobby to study the development of civilizations, the evolution of food and drink, as observed on a thousand planets, over and over again.

Wine is wine: a mildly intoxicating beverage made from a type of fruit grown in warm climates.

"Perhaps he worries you might interfere in his plans in the Saluton system," Balem muses.

"He would be right to worry." Kalique dimples. "Of course, now it might rather look like a reaction - an overreaction, even. Perhaps he is cleverer than I gave him credit for."

Balem shudders. He can't help himself. The notion that Kalique might - it is, quite simply, repellent.

"If such is your concern, I should be happy to take over your operation," he says. "At cost."

"Cost to be determined by an equally balanced team of accountants," Kalique says quickly.

"Done." Balem feels a stab and stares down at his hand. There is blood, and spilled wine, and broken glass.

Kalique's face is expressionless.

 

Unless specified otherwise by special dispensation, four groups of people inherit: spouses, children, siblings and Recurrences. Grandchildren, great-grandchildren, uncles, aunts, nephews, nieces, cousins and others even further removed are excluded.

One less well acquainted with the bureaucracy of Ouros might assume this law to have been put into effect in order to preserve the sanity of those expected to sort out the estates of the deceased.

Anyone who has ever visited Ouros for even so small a matter as a renewal of their Splicing license knows that all the bureaucrats defending the Commonwealth against the forces of lawlessness and entropy are already quite mad, and in no need of protection.

(Mass-execution has been suggested, from time to time, but the procedure to obtain the proper forms for such a measure proved too lengthy a thing. It is rumored that the first Advocate, programmed by Seraphi Abrasax herself, yet wanders the halls, doomed to forevermore search for the elusive office RG.176/b5, long since renovated, renumbered and reconcealed behind a filing cabinet.)

 

Third-party involvement is a tricky subject.

Balem knows he is old-fashioned, that Kalique will sometimes neglect her own defenses, her own affairs in the knowledge that if the situation escalates beyond a certain point, Balem will be the one to step in and apply his own resources to the problem.

He also knows that she will sometimes, but not always return the favor - and it is a favor with Kalique. A trade. Something for something else.

Kalique is always aware of the bigger picture, the numbers on the final sheave. The profit margin.

In a way, she is the coldest of all of them, the one most like Mother as Balem knows he should wish to remember her. There is a lovely room in Kalique's favorite alcazar, a statue surrounded by a sea of candles. She's never invited him there, never even hinted at its existence, but he knows that she has built it for him. For remembrance.

Balem knows it is not always wise, though, to dwell on the past. Mother is gone. Kalique is still here.

A second chance, of sorts.

 

"Small wonder people think you're working too hard," Kalique says, shaking her head as she touches the hint of grey at his temples.

Balem takes no particular pleasure in permitting his body to grow old, as becomes fashionable among the First Estate every now and then. He much prefers it over the equally recurring trend of everyone walking around like teenagers, though. And he does love the lines that appear on Kalique's face. He loves mapping them, and tracing back their origin to one of her expressions, used so often that its shape has become permanent.

"And what people would those be?" he asks. Their closest advisors are exempt from both assassination and bribery attempts, but Balem knows that it entertains Kalique to have a few of his lower underlings in her employ. He amuses himself in turn by feeding them tidbits of occasionally false information.

Kalique is more tolerant of failure than he is; the elimination of agents who have proven their uselessness is usually left to his discretion.

"People who love you, of course," Kalique says. "Problems with a harvest? If you need my help with anything, you know you only need to ask."

"Considerate as always." Balem's last three harvest have all been successes, with profit margins easily exceeding the highest ever achieved by any of Kalique's planets. In this arena, at least, he ought to feel confident of his superiority. "My sweet sister."

Kalique huffs a little, as if offended. "An honest offer, I assure you. You have had such a streak of successes, this past century. It would be a shame if something were to happen to end it so soon. People's memories are so short, and failures are much better remembered than successes."

"Is that a threat, or a warning?"

Kalique laughs, throwing back her head, showing him her neck. For one fleeting moment, he is tempted to put his hands around it, to see what her face might look like when he is choking the life out of it. (He would stop before any permanent damage was done. Of course.)

"Am I truly expected to give up my secrets so easily?" she asks. "Perhaps both. Perhaps neither. You might wish to ask me again from a position more to your advantage. Provided you can obtain one."

He feels a shiver of excitement, of life. Mixing business with pleasure is nothing new, but it's rare for Kalique to give him a chance at a clear victory.

He imagines having her under him, begging, and then he imagines their positions reversed: himself, completely at her mercy. Both fantasies appeal and arouse, although he knows that this night, he may only hope to achieve one of them.

"Be careful what you would have me do, sister. I might surprise you."

"I hope so," Kalique says, smiling the smile time has etched on her face.

Balem will miss that when it's gone.


End file.
